Discussions.ie Site/Owner

[David]

Engineering and invention, starring Val Edison Martin.

 

[AN4]

Even four is a stretch.



His accent makes me want to smash his teeth in with a hurley stick.

He reminds me of my old biology teacher, John 'Bod' O'Connor. I named him after the stick-man cartoon character from decades ago. Whenever he'd walk into the lab, we'd burst into whistle-song of the theme tune of Bod.



On the football pitch, he was a violent bastard. But he was also extremely short and very stocky, kind of like Declan. Ever noticed how Declan's vans look to be of a monstrous size? That's not the van. That's just him and his little self. A midgety little fucker with a fat gob. His stance when he's telling the bingo ladies about some street sign or old wooden shack, his left arm sort of pointing outwardly toward the object he's bladdering on about, as though he's giving you permission to pass him at a door he's holding open for you.

Yap, yap, yap. Paul Revere. The Boston tea party. Southie. The North End. As though these are cultural hot-spots rather than tired old towns and cities currently falling apart much like Detroit and Michigan. His saggy little arse. The rotund and obnoxious presence. The fat under his chin. The way he sucks bis belly in when breathing to appear slimmer than he is, only for it to flop back over his pants-belt as soon as he starts his yap again.

If Irish nationalism is in his hands, then it's as dead as your sex life is, Jimmy.



Is he really a newbie though? Are you sure he isn't some plonker from Belgrade's days? Or possibly from P.ie?





Regardless of whether I'm right or not (I always am) I'm far from miserable, Jimmy.
I have an actual life, I don't live for these sites like you do.
My goals are in the here and now, not some pipe dream about Ireland once again becoming an island nation of the true Gaels.
That shit's dead in the water, and it's the voting Irish of the last fifty years who helped them seal your fate.
Ireland has nobody left to blame for her current woes, and blaming the British is nothing more than more self-destruction.
Like the Jews blaming Hitler for everything, they can't seem to let it go either.

As for my being right?
Jimmy, take a look around you.
See all those full ashtrays and empty beer tins and frozen pizza boxes?
There are millions more men just like you out there, always putting off the Big Clean-Up until the day after the revolution.
You're too busy blogging the days and nights away to deal with it now, you have a war to win, right?

Wrong.

You have nothing to win, you only have a long list of things you've lost and will never get back.

These are the same things Finland grasped tightly even with eight hundred years of Swedish occupation along with a hundred years of Russian occupation.
Finnish is the first language of Finland: English is the first language of the Irish.
That alone exposes the tiny island and leave her defenceless against the incoming hordes looking to take your women, houses, and money.
Like I said: if you twats were speaking Irish today, then half of Africa and Asia wouldn't be raining down on you in torrents.

How soon until Mick Martin embarrasses you twats all over again with his bowl of green weeds?
Seven days: the same amount of time it took the god of Arsefield's members to create the world as they know it, five thousand years ago.
And when he's done with the role, when is Shimmy Harris stepping up to the plate?
Your two-party state has you by the nuts, Kid.
They ain't letting go any time soon either.



The kiddie site isn't that much different: Daemon's clearly afraid by now, he knows he's been overrun and that it's too late to stop the dyke from leaking. So he's keeping his finger firmly in the hole, trying to keep up with conversations he doesn't understand. With members far too pseudo-intellectual and with far too much time on their hands. Unemployed men of every age, retired old men, and handful of hairy-legged women like the shitstick, and of course Swordid, the bloke you call your Ma.

You could say that The Isle too is clannish: it's just you, David, and I.

lol Add 'clannish' to the list of words you don't understand

The reason nobody wants to join up on here is that the handful of active bloggers Ireland actually has is busy on competing sites.
There is no golden horde of potential new members out there, because nobody gives a shit about these joints.
Why would they?
I mean even if they are politically active?
There's nothing to be gained or lost on these chat boards: just old farts trying to out-jibe and out-slag each other.

Of course, the there's me: and my goal is the same one as ever.
To lampoon the shit out of the whole cabal of ye.



You need to be a weasel to take that sort of role on in the first place, Jambo.
Anyone with not just the time to do it, but with the vindictiveness to warp it and twist it.
That's why Swordid was a shoo-in for the role all these long dull years of his sad excuse for an existence.

The only reason you don't offer to do it yourself is that you're too fucking lazy, you lack any discipline at all.
Getting out of bed at lunchtime isn't helping your cause much either.
Getting drunk by four in the afternoon is going to cave in on you eventually, loathe as you are to realize it.

Funny how you call it a kip now, when only a few weeks ago you were hammering the posts up one after the other.

You're a fucking mess, Jimmy.
In rag order.